


A Study In Motherfuckin' Pink

by Devilbaby



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Crack, Gen, cursing, lots and lots of cursing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-17
Updated: 2018-01-17
Packaged: 2019-03-05 22:07:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 11,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13397250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Devilbaby/pseuds/Devilbaby
Summary: A Study In Pink, told from the perspective of one John Motherfucking Watson; Motherfucking Army Doctor, ladies' man  and all around righteous dude. Word.





	1. Motherfucking Part 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [A Study in Motherfucking Scarlet](https://archiveofourown.org/works/118133) by [ShinyShimaron](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShinyShimaron/pseuds/ShinyShimaron). 



> This fic was inspired by the fandom classic [A Study In Motherfucking Scarlet](https://archiveofourown.org/works/118133/chapters/165298) . For those unaware of it's history, ASIMS started as a joke thread in the now defunct Imdb comments section for the 2009 Sherlock Holmes movie. It quickly took on a life of it's own and was written into story form, posted first on Sherlock Lolz and later AO3. 
> 
> As someone who had participated in the original thread (though I am not the author of the final story) I felt uniquely qualified to undertake the task of updating John "Motherfucking" Watson's exploits for the new millennium. Thus when a prompt on the shkinkmeme asked for a Study in Pink done in John MF Watson's voice, I jumped on that shit. This is the final result, posted without further comment or apology.
> 
> I regret nothing.

Hey there ladies. This is John Motherfucking Watson here, Motherfucking Army Doctor back by popular demand and yeah bitch, Mothefuckin's in the job description. You have to take an extra two years of being badass to get that title and wrestle alligators and shit, so show some respect.

Anyway this is the story about the worst thing that ever fucking happened to me, and no it wasn't getting shot in Afghanistan girl that shit happens all the time you don't get to have Motherfucking as your middle name without getting shot so you learn to cope. No this shit is about what happened after I got back and if you've seen that show on the BBC you know my entire fucking back story is told in about five seconds worth of flashbacks so lets not dwell on it. Point is there I was in the middle of Afghanistan, being a badass doctor and shit, killing all these dudes and then some little prick shoots me in the shoulder and it fucking hurt like hell and they sent my ass back to England and whatever dude, I don't even like the desert I was just there to murder some natives which I totally did so my work was done anyway.

So when I got back to England they were all like "Ok, here's your cane you're a civilian now that means you have give us your gun and wear stupid fucking sweaters and go see a therapist and shit."

"Oh hey man," said I, "Thanks for the cane this gives me something to beat the hobos to death with but what the fuck is with the sweaters dude I am John Motherfucking Watson last time you saw me I was rocking a bowler hat and a motherfuckin' cane sword what is this ugly shit?" But it turns out they only wanted me to wear the damn sweater so I wouldn't terrify people with my awesomeness and I was like, fine, whatever bitches I'll wear the sweater but I am _keeping_ the motherfucking gun because I am John Motherfucking Watson and that is just part of the package. (And yeah I know it's called a jumper in England but I'm John Motherfucking Watson and I'll call it a sweater if I motherfucking want to, we're all global and connected and shit now days so don't be an asshole, ok?) 

So then I got to thinking about it and I said to myself, "Son, you are John Motherfucking Watson what the hell do you need a therapist for you are too awesome for this bullshit." But then they told me it was going to be a chick so I thought hey, whatever. Plenty of me to go around you know what I'm saying? But then when I got there she just wanted to talk about my limp and how it was psychosomatic or some shit.

"Girl I don't even know what that means but I ain't no psycho and the limp is totally make believe chicks dig scars and don't get me wrong I'm awesome without it want me to prove it?"

"It will help if you talk about everything that happens to you," she said.

"What," I replied, "You mean like how I spend all my time drinking booze and having sex with prostitutes? Fuck yeah I can talk about that shit all day but I ain't gonna write it in my blog 'cause it might cause mass suicide when the other dudes find out they aren't half as badass as me." 

So anyway I left the therapists office feeling slightly put out because she wouldn't and whatever, dude, plenty of fishes in the sea and I was just thinking about going to the titty bar and knocking back a few drinks when some asshole started calling my name. I figured it was probably one of those hobos who's always trying to steal my pants and don't ask me why man, but if you read a A Study In Motherfucking Scarlet you know that shit's canon and I just tell it like it is.

So anyway I whipped around, getting ready to break in my new cane on his motherfucking head when I realized it wasn't a hobo at all but some dude I used to know at Bart's, where I'd gone to get my Degree of Motherfucking Medicine. 

"John Watson!" said he, "It's Mike, Mike Stamford!" (And good thing too because I'd completely forgotten that losers name.)

"Hey Mike, you fat fuck!" I cried, "How are you?"

"Good," he replied, "good! Got a job as a doughnut taster at the Krispy Creme downtown. So what have you been up to last I heard you were in a fucking desert murdering people or some shit."

"Damn right I was want to hear about it? I know a great strip club near by."

So I made it to the titty bar after all and we drank some beer and he paid and I might be getting my shit mixed up with that totally punk'd pilot episode they got floating around motherfucking YouTube 'cause I only watched a Study in Pink once and it was awhile ago.

Hey man don't look at me like that, I got a fucking life. You want me to go on with this? Alright then.

So I started telling him all about how being a full time pimp and hiring prostitutes and generally being fucking awesome was like, really expensive and shit and I'd better find somewhere cheap to live or else I'd have to go hang out with the hobos and who has time for that crap, man, they're all a bunch of pants thieving bastards.

"That's hilarious" remarked my companion, "You are the second man today that has told me how goddamn poor his is."

"You asshole," I shouted, "You totally lifted that line from a A Study In Motherfucking Scarlet! I ought to kick you in the balls, you talentless fucking hack! Anyway who this douchbag?"


	2. Motherfucking Part 2, Motherfuckers.

Now I am so motherfucking awesome I can fold space n' shit so next thing you know we're standing in some cheap looking computer room and there's this skinny dude there doing some sort of science but don't ask me what the hell it was I don't give a crap about science unless it's the Science of Being Awesome and Killing People, and I already learned everything there is to know about that shit. Wrote a book and everything. 1

"Miiiike," the guy said, "gimmie your phone, I wanna look at porn."

"Hell no," he replied, "last time I let you borrow my phone you downloaded a bunch of donkey porn on it, you sick fuck."

"Here," I offered, "use mine." Fuck it, I thought. Man can never have to much porn, know what I'm saying? "Just none of that weird donkey shit, ok? I like boobies."

"Oh," said Mike, "btw dude, this is John Motherfucking Watson."

Yeah that's right bitch you heard the man, what else you need to know?

"Whatever," skinny dude grabbed my phone and stared at it, "Afghanistan or Iraq?" 

"Neither you dumbass, it's a Nokia wtf is wrong with you?" I glanced at Mike wondering if this was one of his practical fucking jokes like that time at the airport with the llama, but Mike just sat there looking all smug an' shit and let me tell you if he drug me all the way down here just to pair me up with some crazy fucker he found wandering around the park talking to plants I was gonna go off on his ass but the skinny twat was talking again and Jesus, did this guy ever shut up? 2

"I meant were you stationed in Afghanistan or Iraq Jesus you military pricks are all the same." Then he rolled his eyes like some emo and I was just about to tell him to mind his own damn business before something bad happened to him (called Me) when some chick came in and handed him a coffee and how the hell did that motherfucker pull that shit off? He was nowhere near that smooth but she obviously dug him. Huh, wimmin'. Who the hell knows.

"Oh, thanks for the coffee babe you know you should totally put a bag over your head or something to hide your freakishly proportioned features." Well after that she left the room crying and he was still staring at my phone like he'd never fucking seen one before.

"Here," he said, handing it back to me. "This piece of shit doesn't even work OMG dude you suck."

I looked down at it, "You have to turn it on, you stupid fucking bastard." Jesus H. Christ I was being Punk'd, wasn't I?

"Dude, do like music and shit?" he asked, completely ignoring me, "'Cause I like to play the violin all the time and because I'm all complex sometimes I won't talk to you for daaaaays man, no matter what you fucking do3 so girl don't even bother trying and hey, I was just down in the mortuary beating a dead guy with a riding crop wanna be my BFF?" 

And before I could even answer that jackass was nattering away again. "I think potential flatmates should always know the worst about each other so what the fuck is wrong with you, other than you're a sick, unemployed nutcase with no fucking money and a drunk brother hahaha dude, your family's even more fucked up than mine."

"Hey," I said, feeling affronted, "are you a some kind of Russian spy or something, how'd you know all shit?" I looked suspiciously at Stamford. He might be in on it too, man you just couldn't trust anybody in this damn city.

"Bitch please who the fuck would want to spy on you, I don't have time for that James Bond shit do you wanna do this or not?" Then he started to leave and I still didn't know who the fuck he was or where the fuck we were going to live or anything and shit who was this asshole?

"Just who the fuck are you, besides the world's biggest douche-nozzle?"

Then he twirled around all dramatic-like and swishy and oh great that's just what I fucking need in my life a goddamn drama queen. "Girl if you haven't heard of me you must be fucking stupid as hell my name's Sherlock Holmes and I've been famous for a fucking century and we're going to live at 221b Baker street and have adventures together and store dead bodies in the fridge and stare at shit and man it'll be fucking awesome see you there." 

And then he gave me a playful ~~wank~~ wink and I was all like WTF, dude, I shanked the last son of a bitch who winked at me but I guess he knew that already 'cause before I had a chance to move that little shit was fuckin' _gone_

I looked around and spied Stamford still sitting there smirking at me. I glared at him, "You are such a fucking _asshole_."

 

1\. See: A Study In Motherfuckin' Scarlet

2\. No, no he does not.

3\. This? This is a fucking lie. I mean Jesus, if only it were true but I am telling you for REALS you cannot get that fucker to shut up.


	3. Check It Out, Bitches: Motherfucking Part 3

Well, shit. I didn't really wanna live with that weird fucker but whatever, man, I might as well check out the digs right so I walked down there the next day basking in my own awesomeness after having spent the night being badass and having sex with naked women and about the time I get there Shitlock comes stumbling out of a cab clearly still on a bender and how the fuck did he work the timing out was that prick stalking me? I held my motherfucking cane a bit tighter just in case I had to beat him to death with it. Fuck you just never know.

"Nice location," I said, clearly being sarcastic because let's face it, Baker street is is a shitty place to live but it was better than my even shittier hotel room because the guy across the hall is some fucking hippie asshat who plays John Denver at thee in the goddamn morning and makes the hallway stink like patchouli and the maids always forget to clean my fucking toilet so whatever. 

"Yeah I know dude it's right next to the hobos I love those guys they keep giving me pants and anyway, the landlady offered me a sweet deal cause I killed her husband for her that one time."

Now that scrawny little twat didn't look like he could kill a sandwich and I fucking told him so because I figured if I was gonna live with this cock-juggler we needed to establish some goddamn boundaries and one of them is that I am John Motherfucking Watson and if anyone's gonna do the killing, it's gonna be me.

"Whatever bitch it was in Florida those Americans are fucking hilarious hahaha murder is like, totes legal over there."

So rather than move into shit-tastic Baker street with this emo fuck I thought about moving to America and getting into the free-range murder business instead when some old grandma opened the door and glared at us.

"Morning, Mrs. Hudson," Sherlock said brightly, "got any cough syrup1?"

"Fuck you." She replied and yeah, she knew him all right but for some reason let him in anyway but hey, that was her mistake not mine so whatever and lemmie tell you it does not matter where I go or what I do or what fucking century I am living in I cannot get away from shitty fucking wallpaper. I mean if you reached into the deepest stinking bowls of hell and made a pact with Satan himself you could not get uglier goddamn wallpaper that what I saw in that place and what the fuck were the set designers thinking anyway it looked they turned a bunch of mental patients loose in there.

I looked around and considered stabbing my eyes out with a spork but fuck that I wouldn't use a spork 'cause those things are fucking dumb and who the hell is typing this shit?

"God," I said, "what a fucking dump." It was too, but Asshat Holmes was already babbling away at a fucking skull and making himself a nest in the corner outta shredded newspaper or some shit and man, there are days when you just don't even fucking ask.

"Yeah," he replied, busy tearing up the sports column and that pissed me off 'cause I hadn't even read it yet, "Isn't it great I love the fucking wallpaper it's totally boss and that rug really ties the room together too bad someone peed on it dude have you read my blog yet I am a motherfucking genius."

"Yeah I read it, it's a piece of shit just like you."

"Whatever man, I can solve all the world's problems by fucking staring at them that's how much of a genius I am bitch you don't even know, like I could sit here literally all fucking day and explain it to you and you still wouldn't understand because that's how fucking dumb you are you fascist military prick now I'm gonna lay on the couch for a few days and practice being all moody and shit, wanna watch?"

"Hell to the no," said I, and I had just selected the ballpoint pen I was going to use to stab him in the throat when some dude came up the stairs and was all like, "Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit! Sherlock dude, get the fuck up you gotta come with me RIGHTFUCKINGNOW like, I totally fucking need you man, I'm about to fucking _explode_ here please oh please, oh please will you come _WILL YOU COME?!_

And the funny thing is I am not even exaggerating how totally fucking gay it sounded don't believe me check that shit out for yourself. "Science of Deduction" my ass I knew that bitch was a prostitute that is not the fucking wardrobe of a straight man.

So Sherly was all "Ok, fine whatever stop begging you little bitch who's on forensics2" and the guy told him it was some punk named Anderson and he got all emo and whiny and shit and started pouting about how "Anderson won't work with meeeee" and yeah no shit can't blame the man for that I wouldn't fucking work with him either even if I was into that sort of shit3 I mean have you motherfucking _met_ this guy?

"Ok, fine I'll go but I'm not riding in no damn police car 'cause I'll get fucking cop cooties. Me and John Motherfucking Watson are taking a cab."

"The _FUCK_?" I asked politely.

"Well duuuude, of course you're coming with me you're a motherfucking army doctor."

"No shit, Sherlock."

"Well that means you're into all kinds of crazy fucked up trouble like bodies and shit."

"Girl whatever don't fucking talk to me about trouble; I AM trouble. I am the guy who gives trouble trouble and don't fucking forget it or I'll give you trouble and that is some trouble you do not want to be troubled with, dig?" 

"Oh god whatever I just thought you might want to go look at some dead people with me jesus I was only trying to be friendly you prick."

"Yeah well you thought wrong and anyway the paper you fucking shredded said those people all killed themselves and what the fuck is so fun about checking out a bunch of suicides? They're already dead it's not like you can fucking kill 'em again."

But the again I'd been having a shitty fucking day and rooming with this asshole was guaranteed to make it worse and maybe looking at some dead fuckers who were too lame to stay in the game was just the sort of pick me up I needed you know, broaden my horizons an' shit and anyway I didn't have no money for prostitutes so it was either follow this dumbass around or stay here and stare that that fugly goddamn wallpaper.

So anyway that's how I ended up in a cab with Shithouse Holmes heading God knows where to stare at some dead people. 

Fuck. 4

 

 

 

 

1\. Seriously, fucking cough syrup I mean wtf time was when being a goddamn drug addict meant something, son. You had to be committed to that shit. Now here's this little piss-stain gettin' motherfucking street cred by chuggin' NyQuil and I swear to god, out of all the incarnations of Sherlock Holmes it has been my goddamn misfortune to know, he is by far the lamest.

2\. I assume forensics is some sort of emo sex toy. Must investigate further. 

3\. I'm not. I like boobies

4\. I DO NOT get paid enough for this shit.


	4. Motherfucking Part The 4th; Interlude In A Motherfucking Cab

So for reasons I hope you just fucking read about because I am not going through that shit again I'd just agreed to go stare at some dead loser assholes with my douche bag roomate and he insisted on taking a cab because on top of being the World's Most Annoying Twat he was also a fucking snob and kept going on about how police cars were full of cop cooties and how they'd crawl inside your ears and eat your brain and sweet baby Jesus I was about to beat the fucker to death by the time the cab got there.

So anyway we're sittin' in the back, chillin, listening to Sisqo and just about the time I'm starting to enjoy myself because for once in his fucking life that little dickcheese is quiet suddenly he opens his goddamn mouth and fuck I knew it was too good to last.

"I know you're like completely into me and shit dude everyone is because I am so motherfucking brilliant and mysterious so you might as well go ahead and ask about me and if your questions aren't too stupid I might answer one."

"Ok asshole, here's a question for you; do you ever fucking shut up?" 

"Dude that's a stupid fucking question I knew you were a moron the answer is I'm a fucking Consulting Detective, bitch, like capital letters and shit. I go around and stare at shit for the cops because they're too stupid to stare at it themselves and then after I'm done staring I tell them what to do and twirl my coat at them and I totally made that job up myself because every other job in the universe was just too damn stupid to handle how amazing I am."

"Jesus Christ you don't listen to a goddamn word anybody says, do you?"

"That's another dumb question holy shit you are every bit as stupid as I knew you were but that's no fucking surprise because I am always right about everything I knew you'd been in the military because you look like one of those fascist army dickheads, dude I can spot you assholes at fifty goddamn paces and I knew you had a shrink because all you army fucks are head cases why the hell else would you be in the goddamn military getting shot at and shit and I know you're poor as fuck because you got a used fuckin' cell phone holy shit what kind of loser has that and also because you wear those ugly-ass sweaters you got from a homeless shelter-

 

"Ever seen what happens to a Consulting Detective's capital lettered Brain when he gets thrown head first out of a moving fucking cab?" I interjected. 

"-and I know your brother's a fucking drunk because if I were related to you I would be too.1" He sat back looking pleased with himself. "And that's how you fucking stare at shit bitch, cops don't talk to no noobie amateur pricks I am fucking hard-core."

"Piss off," I said. 

1\. Well ok, he had me there.


	5. Motherfucking Pt. 5: Finally, Some Fucking Plot

So we finally get to wherever the fuck it was we were going dude I didn't even care by that point I was just hoping it was somewhere secluded so I'd have a better chance of hiding the mothefucking body but shit, no dice the place was crawling with cops and wasn't that just my fucking luck and turns out it was this fucking creepy as hell old house that looked like it came out of an episode of Scooby-fucking-Doo or some shit, and there was this chick standing there waiting for us and hell yeah things1. were starting to look up.

"Oh fuck," she said, looking at Sherlock, "What the hell are you doing here you twat?"

I liked her already.

"God Sally," he moaned, rolling his eyes and Jesus I fucking hate it when people do that I was seriously going to stab this little punk before the night was over, "Lestrade like, totally begged me to come over here and stare at shit for him because the entire metropolitan police force is completely fucking stupid and I am like, the only person in the world who can figure shit out by staring at it."

"Oh yeah? Well stare at this you little bitch," then she flipped him off and man, I was digging this Sally chick even without the uniform; nice legs and you could tell she was a loose swinger I mean what kind of gal wears a skirt to a crime scene in the middle of November? Fuck yeah, that's what kind. "You know what I'm thinking right now you pretentious little shithole?" 

"Of course I do girl, women are dumb as hell. You're thinking about how completely fucking jealous you are of me because I am awesome and you're just you and being you is like the fucking antithesis of awesome, like if you had a Vin diagram there would be awesome on one side with me in the middle, and then there would be you over on the other side nowhere even near my bubble of awesomeness."

I stared at him, "Ok, seriously dude you're not even making any fucking sense."

He thumped himself on the chest, "Awesomeness bubble!" he shouted and took off, and shit maybe it was best if he stuck to his cough syrup and and those dumb little nicotine patches this fuckmonkey clearly couldn't handle anything more intense than a motherfucking flu shot.

So we go about two steps and get stopped by some new asshole because we're still in the character introduction phase of the episode and turns out this was that Anderson guy, Keeper of the Forensics Dildo or whatever, and he was all like, "Don't fuck up my crime scene, assclown" and then Sherlock was all "Oh you and Sargent Donovan must be boning because Sally smells like your deodorant" and dude what the fuck ever she was probably just some kind of weird chick that liked man smell get the fuck over yourself and what the fuck did people see in this dipshit anyway? Oh yeah that's right, nothing. 

So Lamelock and I finally make it inside and I'm surprised he could get through the goddamn door with that motherfucking chip on his shoulder. Jesus Christ what an asshole.

Anyway Lestrade's waiting for us inside wearing some kind of blue body condom and fuck I knew these guys were into some kinky crap but oh well, when in Rome and all that shit so I put one on too and kept an eye out for that Anderson fucker because I still didn't know what a goddamn forensics was but it sounded uncomfortable and man you just don't want to let your gaurd down in a place like that. 

So he took us into this room where there was a dead chick dressed all in pink and wtf did you expect didn't you read the motherfucking title? Anyway she was face down on the floor and fuck, chick must have been hard-core 'cause it looked like she'd carved the word "Rache" into the wood with her fingernails goddamn what a ganster and Sherlock just sort of stood there with a blank look on his face and Lestrade was all like "Hurry it up asshole, I got a game to watch" but Sherlock just kept fucking staring at her like in a completely creepy not-at-all-professional way and oh shit he's one of those perverts who has sex with dead bodies or some shit isn't he but I guess that's ok as long as he pays the fucking rent on time 'cause hey, more live ones for me right?

So anyway there's Shercock on his knees like a bitch staring at this dead girl like he's thinking about jumping her bones and I nudge this Lestrade dude 'cause he doesn't look like a total pussy and I'm thinking maybe he knows the scores to last night's game (which I was gonna watch but was too busy having sex with beautiful women to get around to it) but he's just watching Sherlock with this ~ *terribly serious* ~ look on his face and I realized why when these little white words started floating around Sherlock's head and wtf, dude, did that son of a bitch drug my coffee because I will fucking _MURDER_ him.

"Relax," he said "This always happens when I stare at shit." 

What the fuck does he mean this _always_ happens? What, he always walks around with little fucking letters like  CLEAN/DIRTY and DRY/WET floating around him like a goddamn E-learner and what the hell was this, Sesame Street? Man I needed a new fucking agent.

So we're standing there watching dumbass do his thing and he asks for my opinion.

"We have professionals for that you twatwaffle," Lestrade pointed out. 

"Yeah but fuck those guys none of them are as awesome as Watson here."

Goddamn right my friend, whose gonna argue with that? "I think you're a dick," I said, "Also, that chick looks fucking dead to me."

"You're an idiot," he replied, and started talking about all the shit he noticed while he was fantasizing about having sex with corpses and how the dead chick was unhappily married and screwing around on her husband because her ring was dirty and was only in town for one night to have a passionate fling with some pencil -dicked loser and holy shit can you believe this delusional asshole? Talk about wishful fucking thinking. 

So about this time that Anderson dude - who I decided to take out for a beer later because he didn't seem to have a forensics on him after all and wore the same deodorant I did and obviously hated Sherlock so he couldn't be all bad - came running in yelling about how "rache" meant revenge in German or some shit but we all ignored him and maybe that bit came earlier in the conversation who knows dude I told you I only watched this shit once get off my back. But anyway my point is I decided not to be friends with Anderson after all because what kind of fucking loser speaks German? I ain't no Nazi, Hitler was a putz.

Well then Lestrade called Sherlock on his bullshit theory and Sherry got all up in his grill and started acting like a whiny spoiled brat and someone's parents obviously didn't spank them enough as a child.

"Look you fucking prick," said I, "this cock-juggler's done you a motherfucking favor even letting your dumb civilian ass in here so how 'bout you stop acting like a little bitch before you contaminate the motherfucking crime scene with your douchbaggery?" But did he listen to me? Of course not because he clearly did not know who the fuck he was talking to no sir just kept on going and have I even mentioned the suitcase yet? Jesus Christ you'd think that thing was the Arc of the fucking Covenant or some shit the way he kept going on about it.

"Where's the case?" he asked, all emo and dramatic and Lestrade and I just looked at each other like, wtf? and when we pointed out she probably didn't have one we got a double-dose of coat twirling and he was all like, "Dude she's a chick, they pack a suitcase to go to the fucking bathroom" and yeah, ok fair point but what the fuck did it matter but he just kept babbling about that goddamn suitcase like he was Vince Fucking Vega and about how the killer must still have it in his car and I don't really remember what happened next but it probably involved Shirly being an utter fucking twat to everybody and who wants to hear about that so lets just skip to the bit on the stairs where he flips his shit for real, ok? Right.

So there we are, me and Lestrade just chillin' and man talking about the kind of shit men talk about at crime scenes and it isn't any of your business anyway so i'm not gonna fuck with the details but it involved boobies when suddenly Sherlock starts yelling "PINNNNK!" like a tweaker in a nightclub who just heard "Get the Party Started".

Anyway that little fucker takes off like a bat outta hell and I'm getting pretty fucking sick of him running off like that but then again it means he's not anywhere near me and maybe the stupid bastard'll get hit by a car or strangled by ninjas or something and that thought cheered me up, so I went outside to chat up that little minx Donovan 'cause hanging out with dead girls is Shitluck's job dude, gross.

So I get outside and she's all like, "Holmes isn't here he left" 

"Bitch I don't even care about that crazy fucker I'm John Motherfucking Watson want to have sex with me?" and she's all like, "You got it, babe" or at least she would have been, if the scriptwriters had any fucking clue what sells. Instead she tells me that Twirly Shirly's a psychopath who gets off on dead bodies and would probably end up killing someone someday and I'm like, "No shit I knew that already you should have seen the way he was oogling that dead chick upstairs and if anyone's gonna do the killing around here it's gonna be me, because I am John Motherfucking Watson and that's how I roll." 

Then I walked off into the night or some shit, because I'm awesome like that. 

 

1\. By "things" I mean my penis.


	6. Motherfucking Pt. 6: Welcome to the Fucking Family

So there I am, thinking about the best place to get some booze when I notice all these phones ringing as I go by and I didn't think to much of it at first because I'm John Motherfucking Watson, and awesome shit like that just happens when I'm on the scene and it's about damn time the phone booths of London started to represent. But then some fucking hobo tried to steal my pants so I ducked inside one of 'em so I could strangle the bastard to death with a phone cord and when I picked the damn thing up there was some asshole on the other end.

"I'm totes watching you with my spy cam, dude."

Jesus man, London; what a bunch'a pervs. "Who the fuck is this?"

"I spy with my little eye something that begins with-"

"I'll spy you in the fucking eye if you don't start talking, bitch. I am John Motherfucking Watson." Then I hung up and yeah maybe that's not exactly how the conversation went but dude whatever it's not like I was fucking listening. Anyway I'm gonna just skip to the good shit and say this pimp ride pulled up and a leggy brunette offered me a lift and fuck yeah, it's good to be the doctor girl you don't even know.

"Hey babe," I said, "I'm John Motherfucking Watson and today is your lucky day."

Then she smiled at me and the rest is fucking private because bitch I am a motherfucking gentleman.

Word.

So we get to this warehouse or something and by then I'd already drained the martini bar in the Limo and don't even tell me it wasn't a fucking Limousine girl I was there and that bitch Moffat wasn't and he doesn't know how shit went down. But anyways standing in the middle of the warehouse looking queer as a three dollar bill - or three pound note whatever dude I don't know what you people use for money - was this guy with an umbrella and what the fuck is with the people in this city?

Ok, so I admit I was pretty tanked after all those martinis so I can't remember half of what he said but it was pretty clear this dick was related to Shortcock because he was just as big of a drama queen and was wearing a stupid looking foil hat and he didn't seem to know how to use a goddamn phone either wtf and you can't tell me that's it's just coincidence I meet two of these fucktwits within twenty-four hours of each other I don't fucking believe it.

"So what bitch, you couldn't just fucking call me?"

"Dude, hush man I'm trying to be all sneaky an' shit the aliens might be listening and I think Sherlock may totally be one of them."

Holy fucking hell how do I get mixed up with these assholes? "Nice hat."

"Thanks man it keeps out the alien mind probes you should totes wear one I have foil on the underside of my umbrella too but it's bad luck to open that shit up indoors know what I'm sayin' btw you don't seem very afraid of me."

"Bitch I am John Motherfucking Watson and I do not get afraid. I am the thing fear is afraid of, you dig?"

"Whatever girlfriend if you're not afraid of me you fucking should be I have a death ray in my basement now tell me about this dumbass you moved in with, is he a big a prick as everyone says?"

"Dude I how the fuck should I know I just met that bitch yesterday but I'd put money on it, yeah."

"Money? Well I know you need that shit you broke bastard I've seen your place and only hobos hang out with ~~my brother~~ Sherlock he doesn't have any friends, that loser. Wanna spy on him for me I'll give you candy?"

"Look I don't even like that fucking twatwaffle but the Spy Vs. Spy shit is for kiddies and you better believe I got better fucking things to do with my time than deal with either one of you crazy-ass fuckburglers. I am John Motherfucking Watson now just who the hell are you?"

"Oh, I'm Sherlock's Arch Enemy now aren't you all intimidated and shit?"

"Girl please, you're not his enemy you're his fucking brother it says so on that line up there you just crossed it out I can still totally fucking read it. Jesus Christ get over yourself."

"Your therapist thinks you're traumatized by the war but really you miss it, I know because your hand isn't shaking. Here, wear this hat."

"Oh fuck," I ejaculated - and I mean like exclaimed, get your fucking minds out of the gutter you kinky bitches - "Now I _know_ your Shithead's brother, there's no way there can be two loonies who go around doing this shit that aren't somehow related to each other holy crap what a weird fucking family."

He ignored me, clearly warming to his subject. "WHEN YOU WAAALLLKKKKK WITH SHERLOCK HOOOOOLMES, YOU SEEE THE BATTLEFIIIIIEEEEEEELLD!!"

Oh God whatthefuckever, I had chicks to bone and beer to drink and I didn't have time for this melodrama tin-foil hat bullshit. I left him standing there yelling at the wall and got back in the Limo. "Com'on, babe," I said to whats-her-name, "let's go back to my place and play doctor."

And that's how it happened for real girlfriend, I am John Motherfucking Watson; I don't make this shit up.

So I went back to my hotel room because dude, fuck Baker Street and Shithead Holmes and fuck that fucking pink girl too I mean you wear an outfit like that you deserve to get fucking murdered and I just wanted a cheap place to live and bang prostitutes man, I did not sign up for this crap.

I got 99 problems but a dead bitch ain't one.


	7. Motherfucking Pt. 7: Sherlock Done Fucks Up

Well pretty soon I realized I'd have to go back to Baker Street after all 'cause I'd left my porn stash over there and son it is a cold, cruel world and there are some things a man just cannot do without if he's gonna get by so I had the limo drop me off after promising Legs I'd give her a call in a few days and when I got inside I found Shershot lying on the couch with his eyes closed and nicotine patches stuck all over his body and fuck man, what a loser. Maybe if I'd gotten lucky he'd OD'd on his own lamenss and died of shame.

"Duuude, I've been like, trying to text you and shit."

Crap, I knew it was too good to be true. "I know," I replied, "I've been ignoring you, you fucknut."

He seemed to brighten. "Oh, so you got my message then?" 

"Yeah," I said, "I got it and for the record, "AZIKPO" is not a fucking message, that shit doesn't even mean anything learn to spell you goddamn half-wit."

"Spelling's boring," he whined, already starting to pout and I wondered if the cops would buy it if I told them he'd accidentally killed himself with a can opener. I was pretty sure they'd pretend to at any rate. "Breathing's boring, everything's so bor-ing." He patted the sofa fondly, "Except the couch, the couch is totally boss. His name is Wiggins and he's the Angst Couch and you can't sit on him unless you have a Tragic Character arc." Then he draped himself over the arm like he was that fucking chick from "Titanic" or some shit and isn't that a disturbing fucking mental image but if I have be stuck with it so do you. "Btw, I see you've met my brother, man what a dick. He keeps trying to sell me to the U.S. government saying I'm like, an alien from outer space or something and that our parents found me under a giant cabbage leaf1."

"How the fuck did you know I'd seen your brother?" I demanded. Fuck I knew that little shit was a spy!

"You're wearing a foil hat," he pointed out, "oh, and I need to use your phone, dude."

I took the hat off and threw it away. "Hell to the no, use your own you dumbass2, I'm just here to get my shit."

"I can't use mine," he sulked, "it doesn't understand my pain." Which meant the stupid bastard probably couldn't figure out how to turn it on. I began to wonder if maybe I should just split and buy a new stack of porn before I did something I wouldn't regret but might serve prison time for anyway but fuck it dude, that December issue had _twins_. "On my desk there's a number, I want you to send a text for me."

"Fuck you."

"Com'on, duuude, help a bro out man, it's like, really important and shit. Practically a crisis."

Fuck it. "All right fine, just don't ever call me for something dumb like this ever again or I'll strangle you with your own motherfucking scarf. Who am I sending this bitch to?"

"You wouldn't understand if I told you, because you're a moron. Just send the text and use these words exactly, or it won't work: 12 inch, pepperoni, hand tossed. Extra cheese."

"Are you shitting me?!" I shouted, "You lazy little shitstain, this is your big fucking crisis? You need someone to order you a goddamn pizza? Holy buggerfucking hell how did you even make it past fucking puberty?"

"Com' on dude, I'm hungry!"

"Fuck you, you said this shit was important! I thought it might've had something to do with that murder."

He stared at me blankly. "What murder?"

Was this dumbass for real? "Jesus Fucking Christ you twat, the murder we just fucking investigated!" and then because he was still looking at me like he was about to dribble on his shirt, "The fucking pink bitch. The one with the _suitcase_."

"Oh, her. Yeah I already solved that bitch."

"WTF?!" I exclaimed.

"Yeah, totally. Found her suitcase and everything."

"Wait," I said, "I thought you said the murderer had her suitcase in his fucking car, so how in the sodding hell did YOU get it?"

He shrugged, "Oh, that was easy. Some hobos had it and I traded it for a stack of dirty magazines I found in your bedroom. Wanna order that pizza now?"

 

1\. Well I guess that's one way to deal with fraternal shame.

2\. Like I need any more fuckin' donkey porn.


	8. Motherfucking Chapter 9: Wherein Watson Almost Chokes A Bitch

I stared at him _real_ hard. "Is John Motherfucking Watson going to have to choke a bitch?" I asked politely, just before I got ready to beat him to death with a coat hanger.

"Dude, relax. I can get them back."

"Fuck you," I said. "What the fuck did you want her suitcase for anyway? What's so goddamn important you have to toss away a man's life's work for it and why the hell am I ordering you a pizza?"

"OMG, dude why not, didn't you _see_ her clothes? And anyway, that text is like, the most important thing you're ever going to do with your life so don't screw it up."

"I know how to send a text you dumbass," I replied as I considered smothered him with a pillow, but he wasn't listening and started rifling through the dead girl's suitcase.

"Do you think the lime green will bring out my eyes?" he asked, holding up a blazer.

"If you think I give two shits you're wrong, but if you're going to pinch a dead lady's stuff at least do it right and grab the phone, you stupid tit." 

"Oh yeah the phone...I forgot about that." he looked around vaguely, "don't see it here."

"Well it wasn't on her, so what could have happened to it?" I didn't even care by that point but I was still under contract to talk to this dumbass so whatever, lets just get it over with and thank God they only made three fucking episodes this season.

"Oh who cares, the murderer probably has it."

"Why the fuck would a murderer keep his victim's phone, they can track that shit now days."

"Yeah but if you bring that up you'll ruin the rest of the episode you prick. Anyway it doesn't matter, because I've already found the killer!"

Oh fuck, I thought, this ought to be good. "Ok asshole, who's the murderer then?"

"It was a pizza delivery man!" he shouted, clearly pleased with himself.

I stared at him. It's possible my mouth was agape, I don't know for sure because "agape" is a stupid fucking word and I don't use it. "That's the dumbest fucking theory I've ever heard," I remarked. "It was probably a cab driver or something."

"Hahaha that's goddamn hilarious why would it be a cab driver you fucking noob?"

"Well, for one you said yourself she was new in town, we didn't find her fucking car and what do you think, she walked all the way from the damn train station? As for those other assholes the cops said they had no reason to be wherever the hell they were found and that one lady at the beginning of the episode told her dickhead lover to "Get a cab", she said it twice dude, you don't make someone repeat themselves like that in a script unless that shit is _important_. Not to mention in THE VERY NEXT SCENE he's being killed Jesus, they practically shoved the answer down our throats and besides you said on the stairs just before you went bug-eyed nuts that the killer must have driven her there and took off with her suitcase and who the hell else would have been doing the driving except a goddamn cabbie Jesus Christ, YOU don't even listen to yourself do you you ignorant fuck have you been paying attention to a single goddamn thing that's happened so far?"

He shrugged, "Fuck no dude, attention spans are for losers I was busy beating dead people, hanging out with hobos and downloading internet porn onto the cell phones of everyone at the Lestrade's press conference. You should have seen their faces dude, Hahahahahahaha it was awesome."

I took a moment to calm down because I knew the script writers weren't going to let me stab his eyes out and that thought only pissed me off. "You are a complete fucking twatwaffle, did you know that? What makes you think it was the pizza man?"

"Which one of us is the genius here, asshole? Look at the murders, dude. A drunk, a dumbass teenager and some bitch from out of town. All poisoned, and what do they have in common? Pizza." 

"You've got to be fucking kidding me." Seriously man, what the fuck did I do to deserve this?

"It'd be obvious if you weren't stupid. Think about it. The second murder was a teenager. What do teenagers eat? Pizza. The third was some drunk chick. What do you eat with beer? Pizza." 

"What about the pink bitch? How does she figure into it?"

"Oh fuck dude, don't be so goddamn dense. She was obviously boning the pizza man, any fucking porno will tell you that." 

"Have you told any of this dumb shit to the police?"

"Now way dude, fuck those assholes."

"Then why bother me with it, what'd I ever do to you?"

"Mrs. Hudson took my skull, said I could have it back after I cleaned my room. Come on, let's get something to eat. I know this Italian restaurant down the street that gives me free food 'cause the dude who owns it is a criminal."


	9. Motherfucking Part The 9th: Dinner At Fucking Angelo's

Now you may be asking yourself "why the hell are they going out to eat, I thought they just ordered a motherfucking pizza" and if you did then you are clearly smarter than that dumb fuck Sherlock. I didn't say anything though because eating out meant I wouldn't have to sit around staring at that damn wall paper any more and anyway I might be able to lose jackass in the crowd. Then again his parents probably already tried that. 

Repeatedly.

So I decided to ignore him and employed the time by getting the phone numbers of all the hot babes that went by when all of a sudden he starts babbling to absolutely no one because seriously dude I was like, ten feet away.

"This is his hunting ground" He muttered, clearly trying for dramatic but really he just sounded like a pretentious dick, "Now what we know, his victims were abducted from busy streets, who do we trust even though we don't know them? Who is unnoticed wherever they go, who hunts int he middle of a crowd?" 

"How 'bout a cab driver?" I asked, bored as fuck and wondering who he thought he was talking to.

"Shut up, dude, you're interrupting my monologue," he whined and I was about to push him in front of a bus but then we were at Angelo's and...we're gonna skip this shit. Seriously, I have put up with a lot of subtext in the past hundred years but this shit is ridiculous. I mean seriously there's absolutely no fucking point to this entire scene except awkward pauses that can be interpreted as sexual tension so lets just skip to the part where Sherly runs outside and gets hit by a car. Ok? Right.

So just when I thought it was goddamn hopeless Shitluck sees a cab and goes all "Lassie" and takes the fuck off and seriously, did that idot have ADD or something what a moron I mean obviously it was a cab driver but I thought he might at least wait until we figured out which goddamn one because dude have you even been to London finding a crazy cabbie in this city is like shooting fish in a goddamn barrel but it sort of worked out for me anyway because just as he was running out the door some dude he probably talked to one time stomped on the gas and ran his scrawny ass over and I fist pumped but then he jumped back up and kept going. Crap.

So I followed him because if that was going to set the mood for the chase no way I was gonna miss out on that shit and Angelo's sucked I don't know what he learned in prison but it wasn't how to cook so I didn't bother paying either and anyway I am John Motherfucking Watson hell yes I can outrun a cab girlfriend you don't even know.

So we ran around half of London and I would have caught the cab sooner but Shuttlecock was having a hard time keeping up and when something bad finally happened to him I wanted to make sure I was there to see it so I had to pace myself but to make a long story short the cabbie finally recognized who it was chasing him and knowing he didn't stand a chance against my badassery1 he finally gave up and pulled over but then that dicknose Sherlock didn't even fucking look at him and started questioning the guy in the back and I was like, "Wtf dude, we're looking for a cabbie this bitch is just some dumbass American tourist" and realizing the stupid twat still didn't have a goddamn clue what was going on I gave up and went the fuck home.

 

1\. Hell yes it's a word just look in the dictionary under John MFA Watson 


	10. Motherfucking Part 10: Sherlock Just keeps Getting Fucking Dumber

So I got the fuck on out of there and went back to Baker street, thinking that it'd be nice if I could maybe go somewhere once in awhile without that fucking theme music drifting around in the background but hell no and unfortunately Sherlock caught up to me before I could lock his ass out and he was acting all pretentious and shit and was like "See I told you, you didn't need the cane your leg is fine." and I was all like "No shit want me to prove it by kicking your ass with it I’m John Motherfucking Watson and John Motherfucking Watson needs his motherfucking cane I have an image to maintain, bitch." But before I could actually make good on that threat Mrs. Hudson came over wanting to know why there were a bunch of cops upstairs and if we maybe knew a good place where she could hide her blow.

 

So Shirly did that thing where he flaps his coat and gets all uppity and ran upstairs, bursting into the room acting imperious and dramatic because he can’t do anything like a normal fucking person and there’s Lestrade waiting for him with a shit eating grin on his face and I don’t know who came up with that expression but they were clearly a very tortured soul.

 

“Duuuude you can’t break into my place that’s illegal and shit!” Sherlock whined, but Lestrade just rolled his eyes at him and was like, “Gimmie some credit I knew you’d find Pink Lady’s case I’m not a total dumbass by the way this is a totes legit drugs bust hahahaha how you like them apples, asshole?” 

 

Well that was news to me because what the hell were they going to arrest him for, bitch couldn’t even wear a goddamn nicotine patch without ending up passed out on the couch drooling but whatever man not my fuckin’ circus know what I’m saying?

“Have you checked the pantry?” I asked helpfully and Shortcock rounded on me and was about to make the serious fucking mistake of getting’ all up in my face but about that time Sally comes out of the kitchen waving a jar around being all like, “OMG YOU GUYS WHAT THE FUCK, ARE THESE FUCKING HUMAN EYEBALLS WHERE DO YOU EVEN GET THIS WEIRD SHIT DUDE GROSS.” 

“Put those back,” Sherlock pouted, “I need them to help my character seem complex and interesting!” And I took a moment from putting Dumbass in his place to fist bump Anderson who was there too because if what Sherly said was true and Anderson really was tapping that then well done, my friend. But anyway, back to business. So remember way back when I described how the dead chick had carved the letters “Rache” into the floor with her fingernails like a badass? Well it turns out that shit was actually a plot point because Lestrade was all like "Oh yeah btw we found out what 'Rache' means it was the name 'Rachel' it's pink lady's only child she died like, 14 years ago."

Well then Shortshit was all "Lol why would she be thinking about her dead kid when she was busy being poisoned that doesn't make any sense chicks are weird" and we all just kind of looked at him like, "really dude?" and then someone changed the subject because for a supposed genius he was fucking dumb as bread.

Now I'm a bit fuzzy on the details of what happened next because seriously it's been like a 4 years since it was last on television but anyway according to this fan vid I found on youtube Shitluck and I sort of stare intensely into each others eyes while Lestrade leers at us from the corner or something and I don't think that's quite how it went down but whatever dude, i'm just here for the paycheck and I know better than to argue with fangirls anyway1.

 

Well anyway while all that shit was going on Sherry was still stuck on Dead Lady’s dead baby because the man could not take a fucking hint. “Maaan, Rachel duuuude, I don’t get it. Hey Watson what would you say if you were about to die?” he queried, moving around to pose under more dramatic lighting.

 

“How the fuck should I know bitch, I’m John Motherfucking Watson; I’m fuckin' immortal why not ask someone else.”

 

“Cause everyone else is dumb. I need to find out what someone would say if they were clever.”

 

“Well since you’re the self proclaimed genius how about I fucking kill you and then we can find out?”

“God you shitbags are useless.” he moaned, “Everyone shut up and let me be awesome for a minute.” And then he told Anderson to turn around and stop being ugly because he hadn’t been a big enough prick in this chapter and I guess he was falling behind on his douche-quota or something and Lestrade was like, “Go ahead and humor him Anderson before he throws a temper tantrum” and sweet baby Jesus there is no combination of letters in any goddamn language known to man that could possibly express how much I wanted to beat the shit out him.

Well anyway I sat down at the computer while I waited for him to get done staring broodingly at the carpet and being deep or whatever because I figured "Rachel" was probably a password2 or something and it might be a good idea if someone actually did something useful in this show for a change. Finally Sherlock was like “Lol I figured it out Rachel is the password to pink lady’s phone! She planted the phone on the killer's body to lead us to him I am a motherfucking genius you’re all welcome.”

Asshole.

 

“Wow," I remarked, having already pulled up the information and typed in the email address I'd found on her luggage. "Much impressed. Very clever."

 

So about that time Mrs. Hudson came upstairs looking for Sherlock and was like, “Hey fuckbagel, your taxi’s here get the hell out of my house.” And if you caught that obvious-as-hell plot point then you are clearly smarter than the World’s Only Consulting Douchecanoe. 

 

Well everyone ignored her because of reasons and I did some awesome shit on the computer that gave us access to Dead Lady’s smart phone and whatdaya know? “Oh hey, look at that.” Said I, “The phone we’re FINALLY fucking tracking is showing up at Baker Street. Gee, I wonder how the fuck that could have happened.” And I was totes being sarcastic there but I forgot I was living with a dumbass and he took me seriously and was like “OMG CRAAAZY! THAT DOESN’T MAKE ANY SENSE WHAT IS GOING ON?!?!!!1” And then this weird thing happened where time slowed way down and everything started moving in slow motion I guess so the viewer could see what it was like being inside Shercock’s head or something man I was so fucking done by that point I didn’t even care so I just went and got a beer while I waited for him to figure out that the fuckin’ cabby was the murderer.

Well anyway when I came back into the living room everyone was gathered around the television watching the game except Sherlock who was spinning around in circles looking confused and I watched him for a few minutes and about that time the whole thing with the drugs bust started to make a lot more fucking sense.

“How much cough syrup have you had to drink today, dude?”

Lestrade glanced up and was all like, “Leave him alone he’s trying to think and doesn’t have anything to stare at.”

So I just rolled my eyes and got another beer because at this rate we could seriously be here all fuckin’ night.

Well about four years later he finally fucking put it together and holy figging hell if this is what passed for a genius in London these days I was gonna have to fucking move because I’d serious figured all that shit out like, 4 chapters ago.

 

1\. But seriously mad props you are some dedicated ladies it must have taken hours to put that shit together.  
2\. I don't know who the hell makes a password out of their dead kid's name that is just fucked up but whatever I mean they had to work it into the show somehow right?  
3\. Also, that son of a bitch was cribbing my ideas. You see what I have to put up with? 


	11. Motherfucking Part 11: Sherlock Almost Fucking Dies, Hallelujah

Anyway I guess the cabbie got tired of waiting for Shithead to catch up with the plot and finally just came upstairs to get him his damn self and you’d think walking into an apartment full of cops holding a dead lady’s phone when you just murdered the hell out of like, four people and are planning on doing it again wouldn’t be the smartest move but whatever, man, I don’t write this shit go talk to that bitch Moffat if you got a problem with it.

So instead of saying anything to anyone like maybe how there’s a goddamn murderer in the hallway and maybe somebody should get on that shit Sherly just wanders off again like some asshole three year old only this time it’s with Murder Cabbie Guy and we all pretended not to notice because we were well sick of his shit by that point and anyway our team just scored and there was beer in the fridge and then Lestrade said something about prostitutes and the whole evening was looking pretty fly, and then that’s about the time I remembered that jackass still owed me porn.

Shit.

Well I knew they’d all be pretty pissed off at me for making them miss their chance at getting rid of that twiddlefuck and I wasn’t too happy about the prospect myself, but fuck if I was gonna let that little turd die without getting my porno stash back. Sometimes a man just has to muscle up and make the hard decisions, you know? So I slipped out and kept tracking Dead Lady’s phone, which the killer _still_ hadn’t gotten rid of because he was almost as fucking stupid as Sherlock.

Anyway there’s this whole lame bit between Sherlock and Death Cab guy that I wasn’t there for because if I had been I’d have called fourteen kinds of bullshit on it because it starts with Sherlock stating the fucking obvious and being all “Oh you’re the murderer aren’t you!?” Like he’d just said something clever and the cabbie was like “Lol yeah totes magotes dude no one thinks about the cabbie.” Which is a total goddamn lie because that is exactly what I’d been fucking saying since goddamn forever but really that was just the tip of the fucking stupidity ice burg because then he follows it up with “If you want to turn me in you can I’m totally cool with it bro but you won’t because of reasons come take a ride with me yolo.” And Sherlock was all “Hell yeah reasons sounds good to me btw how did you kill all those people?”

“Lol bitch I didn’t kill ‘em I just talked at them and then they killed themselves.” At which point I guess Twatwaffle Holmes felt an overwhelming sense of kinship and got in the cab, ‘cause for reals dude I bet people kill themselves all the fucking time after talking to that asshole. 

Whatever.

So they drive to like a college or some shit (idk man I wasn’t there what do you want from me) and dumbass follows the cabbie inside because he’s basically a fucking lap dog at this point and this is why we need more social Darwinism in the world.

Anyway they have a conversation which I guess was supposed to be dramatic or something but really it just devolved into some sort of Princess Bride bullshit where there’s two pills and one is poisoned and they each take one and one of them dies and whatever dude Princess Bride could get away with it because that movie was awesome and had Andre the Giant in it which meant they could pretty much do whatever the fuck they wanted to because who’s going to argue with you when you got Andre the goddamn Giant in your movie? Hell I wouldn’t argue with the man and I’m John Motherfucking Watson and he’s dead. But my point is Killer Cab dude was no fucking Andre the Giant and neither was anyone else in this stupid show and that was only one of the problems with it.

I mean I’m fucking awesome but I can’t carry this bitch all by myself know what I’m saying?

But fuck man, moving on. Anyway I was holed up in a room on the other side of the motherfucking parking lot which gave me a nice panoramic view of Sherlock being a dumbass and I don’t know what the fuck it is about stupid people who think they’re smart but if there was one person on the goddamn planet who talked more than Shortcock it was that fucking cabbie I mean Jesus Humperdink Christ I was tempted to go for some motherfucking coffee ‘cause I was pretty sure those two pretentious assholes would babble at each other all goddamn night like, fuck you two, get a room or something sheesh.

Well so they’re sitting there eye-fucking each other and I was sitting there bored out my goddamn mind and the cabbie was all like “There's a name no one says and I'm not saying either and he gives my kids money when I kill people rofl.” And wtf dude did I just walk into a Harry fucking Potter book what is this shit? Unfortunately that set off another like, ten minutes worth of conversation and I was starting to see the underlining brilliance of Death Cabbie’s plan because s2g if they’d kept talking much longer I was going to poison my own goddamn self but fortunately they FINALLY ran out of shit to talk about and got around to the murder bit.

Unfortunately I could see Sherwood was about to take the wrong pill that clueless bastard and jfc I was tempted to let him but then I thought about my porn mags and everything we’d been through together and how they were probably at this very moment being mistreated by a bunch of dirty hobos so I grabbed my motherfucking gun and shot the cabbie.

The things we do for love, am I right?


End file.
